Little Cracks
by Aleanbh
Summary: "It takes more will power than he'd thought he'd had to stop himself charging out the door when he hears Lisbon leave her roomfor the last time, but she's asked him to leave her alone, and for once he's going to obey her wishes. He's going to try." Picks up mid - Blue Bird, just slightly different. First multi-chapter, (Jane x Lisbon)
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** _Here we go, after a long time resisting, here's my first multi-chapter fic! It picks up midway through Blue Bird and will take a slightly winding path off the main story, but I hope to have it wrapped up and finished before Season 7 starts. The title comes from a lyric from the musical Once (p.s. if you're looking a song to listen to while reading, When Your Mind's Made Up from the same soundtrack is both relevant to the story, beautiful and heartbreaking too!) I'd really appreciate reviews and would be really interested to hear what you think! For those of you following Silver Decade, you can expect the next chapter next week. _

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."<em>

"_If you're really sorry, why don't you just leave me alone? Go away. Leave me alone."_

* * *

><p>So he does. He goes, goes back to his room and paces. It takes more will power than he'd thought he'd had to stop himself charging out the door when he hears Lisbon leave her room down the hall, to beg her, to plead with her, but she's asked him to leave her alone; she has decided that he no longer has that right. She doesn't want him near anymore, and for once he's going to obey her wishes. He's going to try. It might just be the hardest thing he's had to do in the longest of whiles.<p>

He hears the chime of the elevator as it arrives empty to their floor. He hears its chime as it leaves their floor full of her and their future. Lisbon is gone now, and he is alone. His room is quiet, the isolation is overwhelming and its impact is shocking. The door handle is cool to the touch as he opens it. He looks up and down the empty clearing and fear grows with every step towards the window at the corridor's end.

He waits, baited breath, at the window which overlooks the front of the hotel. He stills, motionless, time stretching, and after a few long moments, there she is, walking away from the hotel, and him, suitcase dragging unwilling behind.

Her back is turned to him as she walks toward her waiting cab, but he can imagine her expression, her hurt. He did that. She walks away from him her back to him. He can't tell from the distance, but he imagines he sees her shoulders raise and fall as though she breathes out a sigh held back for a dozen years. _Maybe she is_. The thought makes him press his lips together tightly as he watches on. She stops then, raises a hand to her face, he sees. Then she pulls what must be her phone from her bag and dials a number. His heart clenches as he imagines whose number it might be. It's not his. His phone is in his pocket and it does not ring. She keeps walking then, up to the taxi. His throat is pulsing as he watches her. He can no longer see her properly, she has become but a silhouette behind the rear window of the taxi which is starting to pull off, but still he watches, and still he knows, he sees: she doesn't look back.

* * *

><p><em>Don't look back, don't look back<em>, she tells herself. She doesn't, and so she doesn't see Jane looking on, trying desperately to let her go.

She looks down and is almost surprised by the phone still in her hand. She raises it carefully to her ear.

"Still with me, Teresa?" Marcus is saying. She almost forgets to answer.

"Still with you." She needs to get off this phonecall before her voice gives her away. "But I have to go. Talk later."

"Okay," he's saying and she can _hear _his smile. "Love you."

She hangs up. If he asks, she will say it was a bad connection. _'A bad connection'_, she will tell him. A bad connection, they happen all the time. She hopes it isn't what's happening between them now.

"Airport then?" The cab driver asks pleasantly. "Off to any place nice?" He asks, cheerful, harmless.

"Oh, no," she says and then recovers herself. "I mean, yes. Washington. I'm going to Washington."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be very nice," the taxi driver says. And she knows he's right – it _is _someplace nice; beautiful, even, she knows. She knows it is, so why she can't believe that it will _be_ so?

The uneasiness grows as she sits back in the cab and watches the Texan landscape speed past for the last time. The uneasiness stays with her through the queues of check-in, through security and to the departure gate. She is tense and on edge and she finds herself looking around, looking behind her; she isn't sure what for.

Before long she is sitting on the plane, wholly unaware that across the airport Jane is running, hurtling himself towards where she sits as fast as his legs can carry him.

* * *

><p>He <em>had <em>intended on letting her go. He was used to her being disappointed in him, angry at him, upset with him, but never like this. _Never like this._

She's gone and he doesn't feel any better. He hadn't really thought he would, really, but at least she's out of his reach, out of harm's way. He doesn't feel like explaining what's happened to Abbott or Cho but he needs some fresh air. This room is choking him.

He goes downstairs and exits the hotel through a side door. He needs to clear his head. What he _really_ needs is to clear the air with Lisbon, apologise, let her know that despite his obnoxious actions, out of line as always, that he still wants the best for her. He wants what she wants for herself, even if he really, _really_ doesn't, so he wishes she could know that he'll support her still, despite their last. But that won't happen now, so he settles for trying to clear his head. It doesn't really work.

He realises ten minutes in, in a secluded and lonely corner of the hotel's garden, a view of the sea in sight, that this walk isn't what he needs. _Lisbon_ is what he needs, and no amount of wishing it wasn't so won't change that. He'll let her know he tried so hard, so _very_ hard to stay away, to let her go, to let her be happy without tormenting her first. She already knows his selfish cruelty, already knows him better than anyone else, and he hates to do this to her once more, but he has to. Before he is sure of what he's doing at all, he's bounding across the garden, through the front door, desperate for a set of keys and one last confrontation with her.

It's there he finds Abbott and Cho and four suspects in a long forgotten murder. The delay is excruciatingly exhausting and painful, but as he fuels toward the airport many moments later, he appeases himself with the thought that at least he can report the good news of the killer's capture to Lisbon. _If she'll still care at all, that is._

He doesn't know the exact time of Lisbon's flight and his heart sinks every further minute it takes to reach the airport. He abandons his car in the nearest car park he can and runs with every ounce of energy he has left after the disappointment and strain of the heartache of this day. He brandishes his FBI I.D. to anyone who will look at it as he chases through the crowds like a madman.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders what next. Is he really going to do this? Has it come to this, after all? His relationship with Lisbon, her relationship with him: it has been twelve long years of being so intensely private; hiding feelings from Red John, from others, from _themselves_. To do this in public, to grab her by the shoulders in a crowd of unfamiliar faces and tell her – _no_, it needs to be just them. Just them. It has to be just them. It _has_ to be, but it _can't_. She's sitting on a plane and he has no choice.

* * *

><p>She's sitting on a plane and he has no choice, but it will not come to this. He has no choice but she <em>does<em>, and she's been sitting worrying and the uneasiness has been growing and everyone around her on this plane seems happy but she doesn't want to be here. _She doesn't want to be here_. It seems so clear all of a sudden. She doesn't want to be in Washington.

And without really realising she's doing it, very calmly, slowly and without getting excited, she reaches under the seat in front of her and lifts her coat. She wraps it around her and puts it on. 'Excuse me', she says to the lady to her right and she goes to the overhead cabin and lifts down her hand luggage. The man who had been sitting to her left raises his face to her as she stands on the aisle and seems to ask silently if she's alright and she nods. She's getting off this plane and for the first time in a long while she _is_. He nods at her again, satisfied, and she makes her way down the aisle.

"Alright, miss?" the air hostess asks.

"Yes, thank you," she says quietly, firmly, her voice surprisingly strong. "I won't be taking this flight today, sorry." Her voice is so calm it almost unnerves he but she's on autopilot now.

"You're sure?" The air hostess asks her and looking up at her, she smiles. "I am."

The air hostess smiles too.

Airport staff guides her back down the gangway back and arrangements are made with her luggage. She can't believe what she's just done.

It feels surprisingly lonely walking back to the airport the wrong way down the gangway. She feels briefly the eyes of airport staff on her, perhaps wondering about her story, but they're busy with their own lives, after all, and they don't pay much heed.

She sits on a seat at the now empty gate, and wonders vaguely what to do now.

She's been _rushing rushing rushing_ up to this calm.

She takes her phone and without planning it, calls her last dialled number.

"Teresa. Not in the air yet? I hope there's no delay."

"No," she says. "No delay."

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright."

"Then wh-"

"-_Marcus_."

She hangs up. They still have much to talk about.

She sits in silence a long time, unwilling to leave this bubble of airport. She is alone, perhaps a little lonely, but in control for the first time in a long while, and a little happier than she's been recently, which only succeeds in making her feel guilty too.

She rubs her face in her hands. What a mess she's left, on both sides. The thought of facing up to the reality of everything outside these walls is thoroughly draining. Here she can remain. Remaining seems to be all she is good at these days; here she sits in a room hundreds of strangers have moved on from with no difficulty: a hundred strangers and her future with a prospective husband and many days filled with happiness and children and laughter and love, and the rest of that life she might have had.

What a way to leave things with Marcus. What a way to leave things with Jane.

Not that she'll be leaving _him_ now, after all.

She lets her head drop to the side and she catches it with her left hand in her fingertips. She finds herself wondering vaguely about Jane and finds herself strangely amused and saddened that _this_ is the instance in which he's finally decided to listen to her, to respect her wishes and take her at her word. He's left her alone. He's doing what she asked straight up for first time in his life. She realises now she'd been half expecting him to dash up to her at the last moment and say – _something_.

She'd spent years trying to let go of him – while he'd spent six months in Nevada, after he'd hurt her, after he'd left California, after Red John. She'd spent years trying to let him go without managing it, and it turns out that all _he_'d needed to let _her_ go was a few stern words and a few fallen tears. But he's done what she asked and she has to give him that. He's done what she asked.

* * *

><p>He's <em>tried<em> to do what she's asked but he has let her down once more, and he's running, still running.

He's running to her gate despite the fact it has been closed this long while. A glance at the departures board tells him her plane should be taking off this minute, and that surely means she's locked on a plane that won't turn back, but he keeps running, chest burning, running. Maybe he can convince them; he's F.B.I. for Christ's sake, surely he should have some influence. Maybe for once he can put his godforsaken lies to good use, get past the gate, make it happen, get to her. He's close now, stumbling still, inching closer to her gate with every step, closer to that empty space. He must be too late, he must be and still he runs, ever closer. He might see her plane take off. He doesn't know, but he has to try, so he rounds the corner, _and_ _there she is_.

_There she is_.

He falters to a stop.

She is sitting at the gate, alone, head held steady in her hand.

In this confused instant he realises she hasn't gone to Washington. He can't believe this but the way his heart is rising, still thumping, tells him she's decided to stay but it's too good, she can't have, it cannot be true. He is overcome with feeling and wants more than anything to approach her, hold her close and tell her, tell her_- something_.

In those last desperate moments he'd imagined running up to her, possibly making it onto the plane in front of a hundred strangers he'd now never know, and declaring his feelings for her, saying -_something_.

He hadn't expected to find her sitting alone in a deserted departure gate. The isolation makes this more real. Confidence in front of crowds he could have, but to sit down beside her now alone and take her hand and tell her all he's ever felt for her-

He tries to think clearly. She is not on her way to Washington, and that is very much a positive development. It means at best that she _won't_ be leaving, or the very least that she's not leaving _yet_. They still have time. _He_ still has time.

He remembers then that she's still angry at him and she'd ask him to leave her alone and it occurs to him that if she looks up she will see him, so hating himself, he gathers himself and sidesteps to the right, losing sight of her. He rubs his face with his hands and not quite believing that this is happening, he turns and walks back the way he has come,_ leaving her alone_. He's been _rushing rushing rushing_ up to this calm. _Calm._

* * *

><p>A glimpse of movement raises Lisbon's head and somehow the brief glance she gets puts her in mind of Jane. She could not imagine that he was but a stone's throw away from her, more calm and serene than she'd seen him in a long while.<p>

Jane. He would _break_ her.

_Jane_, and she who should be thinking on Marcus at a time like this.

She supposed it was right after all that she think on the two today. Two loves lost in one day.

She would have to wait and see what tomorrow would bring.


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN:** Thank you for your kind words of review! Here is Chapter 2, hope you enjoy and like Jane and Lisbon, we'll see where we go from here! Please review and let me know what you think! x_  
><em>_

* * *

><p><em>It's just a change of plans<em>, she says to herself as she walks into the bullpen. _ That's all it is_. Plans are made to be changed. Plans are made to be changed, and hearts are made to be broken, it would seem. She's been learning a lot about both this week. _Life goes on._

She steps out of the elevator and enters the bullpen, scans the office scene in front of her and spies Cho in the kitchen.

Cho. A safe choice.

She makes her way toward him and they small talk for a few moments until the subject reaches the inevitable topic.

"You should have gone," he says and she physically flinches. His bluntness has rarely hurt so much, never cut so deep. She thinks he must see the hurt in her eyes. "Better opportunities in D.C." he explains softly. "But hey, even here, after the CBI I never thought we'd even have anything like this. Professionally I think you're crazy. Personally? I've never been more glad." She presses her lips together to hide how much his words mean. "You _should _have gone," he repeats, "but I'm glad you're staying." He repositions his mouth and it's nearly a smile.

"Thanks, Cho." She says, swallowing hard. "You're one of the best, you know?"

He nods curtly. "Yeah, I know."

He taps her elbow on his way out, and she takes two deep shaky breaths.

And he was supposed to be the _easy _one.

Oh, how she could do with Fischer now. She'd understand Lisbon's discomfort, would indulge her with a quick word of support and welcome and then delve straight into the everyday workload. But Fischer's not here anymore. In a turn of events neither would have believed a week before, Fischer had unexpectedly jumped at the chance to take the empty space in Washington. Lisbon found herself wondering why. Perhaps she too had grown tired of Jane, tired of them all. Lisbon was feeling rather tired herself, and now, without Fischer, and not for the first time since she came here to the FBI, Lisbon feels alone.

She needs to pull herself together, and quickly, for she can see _him_ within eyeshot. _Quickly._ This is still Jane. Same old Jane that's breaking and delighting her heart for the last ten years. After everything they've been through together, she can get through this reunion.

"Morning, Jane," she says, her voice sounding much stronger that she feels it.

"Hey, Lisbon," he says as he approaches, cup of tea in hand as always, and her heart starts beating very quickly.

"Change of plans, eh?" he gestures, a half-shrug, with his shoulder; and this is all so normal, as if nothing has changed, as if what had happened between them in Miami had not happened at all. As if he had not tried with all his might to sabotage the beautiful thing she might have had because he was jealous, and selfish and a hundred different things she'd known he was for years.

But of everything Jane might have done, of all the ways he might have reacted to that debacle here and now, this is not one which had occurred to her. It nearly knocks her for six, but she finds herself playing along.

"Yeah," she's saying, wondering why. "Change of plans."

The instant puts her in mind of past moments, left standing, expecting more from Jane, more which would never come. Just before the Red John showdown he had driven to the most beautiful beach, expressed great feeling for her and then left her to run off to almost certain death. He had survived, somehow, never to mention his words on the beach again, but she's not sure she can endure much more of this torture. This torture he is subjecting to her for the third time, she thinks.

Years, _years _ago now, even before that evening on the beach, he had cornered her in her office of the CBI and told her he loved her, just to dismiss her brave questioning of his words later. She had thought long and hard on those moments, considering his motives.

Perhaps the first time he'd needed to secure her loyalty to the scam, to ensure she would keep up the premise of her untimely death by his hands. It was likely that on the beach he had uttered those words to confuse her, to distract her long enough to allow him to run off and get Red John. She understand that in a way, despite the hurt, but Jane's gotten Red John now and so she doesn't understand his motives now, what he has to gain from hurting, torturing her so.

His motives now, whatever they maybe be, mean that this, the events of Miami, are just another let down. He's acting as though nothing has happened, and she's lived through this from him before, and it hurts now more than ever. She realises in that moment this is just another instance of him backing away from his words and actions, an torturously elongated long play of what had been said before and then abandoned, and it hurts _so_ and it hurts even more because she knows she should know better by now.

She finds that she is frowning now, she can't help it, she is frowning at him and he can see, and suddenly she's very tired of it all. There are words on his lips but he does not utter them. His careless smile falls as he sees the change in her expression.

"Yeah, Jane, whatever. Change of plans." She turns to walk away.

"Lisbon-"

"_Yes_, Jane?"

He looks uncomfortable, as if the next words are difficult to say.

"I'm glad you're here. Probably for the best. I'm glad you've stayed."

She looks at him.

"I don't care."

She walks away. He sees Wylie looking after them both curiously from behind his desk.

"Lisbon-" Jane calls, going after her. "Lisbon?"

She turns around sharply to him. "I'm sorry, Jane, but I don't care what you think. I've spent far too long – on you, Jane, and I've spent too long on what you think is best for me. I'm done."

He looks confused, as though convinced she's having him on. Disbelief and fear are what she reads from his face. Disbelief that she is threatening to cut him off. Fear that she will. He can sure as hell read her, but she can read him too. He never seemed to realise that.

"You're done?"

"With you, Jane. I'm done with _you_. I'm sorry."

Her words sting because he knows she means them. She is not him, and she doesn't lie. He watches her walk away and wonders if there's any coming back from this.

* * *

><p>She walks away and knows there's no coming back from this.<p>

She sees him looking at her curiously a couple of times throughout the day, and she resists the urge to wonder what he's thinking.

She leaves quietly at five o'clock, glad for that day to be done. Her home is quiet but she can busy herself with unpacking her life out of boxes and she dreads the day she won't have them to pass the time. That day is coming soon. She has been lonely these past few days. True, she has needed space, has needed to be alone after everything, but she worries for the day she will need a friend.

She has been on edge all day, returning to work for the first time, so she puts on some music, makes some pasta, tries to maintain some normality about the place. It is almost ten minutes to eight when she hears the rap on the door.

"Jane," she says, surprised.

"May I come in?" he asks.

She nods. She's realised already today that she cannot ignore Jane forever. She must be civil at least, and she supposes he deserves the truth, her reasoning, almost as much as she deserves to get it off her chest.

"How have you been?" he asks, searchingly when they arrive into the living room.

She nods, shrugs. "Alright. You?"

"Fine," he says.

He clears his throat.

"About today, Lisbon; about last week-"

"Jane.."

"I mean, I get that you're mad at me; I shouldn't have done what I did. But I don't understand."

"You don't understand what, Jane?" Her voice is tired.

"You were angry with me before you left, Lisbon, and you left the hotel. So why didn't you _go_? Why did you come back? And if you were so angry with me then when you left, why did you just come back?"

"What?" she cringes as she feels the blush rise on her cheeks. She doesn't know the answer.

"Why didn't you go? To Washington, I mean. What I did was wrong, but it didn't prevent you going to Washington. So I want to know why you didn't."

"It's none of your business," she says tightly, folding her arms across herself, tearing her eyes away and looking at the carpet.

"I think it is, Lisbon. I think you stayed because- I think I _made_ you stay."

"No, Jane, no," she says, a desperate anger surging in her belly and her eyes snap back to him.

"But-"

"No!" she snaps, unwilling to go on any longer with this train of thought. She can't have left Marcus and Texas for Jane, she _can't_ have. She acknowledges that her feelings may have been part of the reason, but she knows it's not the truth so she won't let him continue down this path.

"Jane," she begins, willing the tears that have been threatening to overcome her to disappear. "You know I care for you. You know I don't want to hurt you, but I didn't stay here for you. I stayed here because Marcus wasn't right for me, no matter how desperately I wished and hoped he was, and not because someone else _was_."

She brushes away an escaped tear roughly with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I am. I just-"

"-But you _could _have gone! I didn't stop you. If you truly wanted to, you would have, and yet there you were, just sitting all alone at the departure gate Lisbon and I-"

_Oh no._

He shuts his eyes tightly closed as he realises what he has said, what he has done, and waits for -

"What?"

_Beat._

"You came?" she whispers. "You came, to the airport. You followed me."

"Yes."

He nods.

"Why?"

"To see you . To - apologise."

"So why didn't you?"

"You didn't go."

"I didn't deserve an apology because I didn't go?"

"No, I-"

"Oh, I _see_. You thought you were forgiven _because _I didn't go. You thought I stayed because I had already forgiven you so you didn't bother. God, you're infuriating, Jane, you really, really are."

"Lis-"

"This may be news to you, Jane," she says slowly, trying to grasp her wild and angry thoughts together to make a complete sentence, "but I didn't stay here for you. You are not the be all and end all of everything. My life doesn't revolve around you. Not anymore."

"It never should have been," he says quietly, drawing into himself. "I'm sorry for that."

She dismisses his statement with a wave of her hand. "Don't be. That was my fault. And it was good, some of the time."

"Only some of the time?" he asks, daring her to smile.

She tosses her head, tilting it, letting him know she knows exactly what he's doing.

"_Some_ of the time," she confirms.

He hums his agreement, opens his mouth.

"I still want to apologise, Lisbon. You're right, you deserve that much. I truly am sorry for what I did. I need you to know."

She nods. "I appreciate it."

"It was a desperate act. Desperate times," he explains with a wave of his hand.

"But why, Jane?"

He looks at her.

"That's what I don't understand. Why, Jane? Why?"

"I didn't want you to go. I still don't."

"So you thought giving me a pretty dress would make me stay better than just telling me? _That_ was your best shot Jane? Why didn't you tell me? _'Lisbon, I'd love if you'd stay.'_ It wouldn't have been hard. I might have stayed for you then Jane, I love working here, I've always loved working with you, even when I've _hated_ it. Why wouldn't you just tell me? You think a dress and a lie would mean more to me than years of working together, having each others' back? Being friends? I thought we were close, Jane."

"Listen to yourself, Lisbon!" He's realising the danger, knows she is serious, and he is becoming desperate. "We _are_ close. Of _course_ we're close."

"We were. Now I'm not so sure Jane. A lot has changed in two years."

He shakes his head, in denial. "No, it hasn't."

She looks at him sadly, reaches across to touch his hand.

"It_ has_, Jane, it's nobody's fault. But if you can't see that then more has changed than even I thought."

He takes his hand out from under his, brings it back to himself. She thinks his patience must be wearing thin. He's not used to this heat from her, she'd always let him away with his sins before. "Nothing has changed, Lisbon! I'm still _me_ and you're still _you_," – he's almost yelling now – "and we're here together, and I don't want that to change!"

"Then why couldn't you just say it?!" she yells, shouting now, exploding. "Why the lies, why the mess? Why always the drama with you, Jane, since always? Why is nothing ever simple?! Why can you never just _say_ things?"

"_I love you, Lisbon." _

Her face drops.

He's wearing a sad smile. "I can _'just say'_ things. I love you, Lisbon_. I love you._ I am _in_ love with you. But I couldn't say _that_. I didn't want you to leave but I couldn't tell you why, not when you were so happy with Marcus. And believe me, I tried, I tried so hard to let you go. But I couldn't. So now you know. But I think you did already. I love you."

"_Jane_."

He looks at her, sees the sadness , the tiredness in her eyes, exhausted from the strain of the day and the anger and emotion of this night.

"I'll go," he says quietly.

She nods, leads the way to the front door.

"Please say something, Lisbon. Please don't punish me with this."

She stops, turns to him. She looks more tired than he recalls her seeing her in a long, long time.

"No, Jane. I'm not punishing you. I'm not sure I even have enough left in me to care enough to _want_ to punish you, Jane, and I'm sorry about that too. I'm _so_ tired, of everything. You've made me so tired. I'm sorry."

"Me too. I'm sorry, too. Goodnight, Lisbon." He reaches his hand to the one he had brushed off minutes before, squeezes it gently before walking away.

She watches him from the door as he goes, and for the second time in as many weeks, she begins to cry as he walks down the path away from her.


End file.
